The wavering Lover willeth, and dreadeth, to move his Desire

SUCH vain thought as wonted to mislead me

In desert hope, by well assured moan,

Makes me from company to live alone,

In following her whom reason bids me flee.

And after her my heart would fain be gone,

But armed sighs my way do stop anon,

’Twixt hope and dread locking my liberty;

So fleeth she by gentle cruelty.

Yet as I guess, under disdainful brow

One beam of ruth is in her cloudy look:

Which comforts the mind, that erst for fear shook;

That bolded the way straight; then seek I how

To utter forth the smart I bide within;

But such it is, I not how to begin.